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<title>The Broken House by Foolsparsley (Freckleberg)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101624">The Broken House</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckleberg/pseuds/Foolsparsley'>Foolsparsley (Freckleberg)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Lilac and Gooseberries, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:40:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26101624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freckleberg/pseuds/Foolsparsley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt comes upon a ruined farmhouse that smells of lilac and gooseberries: the house where Yennefer was born. </p><p>---------</p><p>Content warning for some allusions to violence against children.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Yenralt Week</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Broken House</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the theme "Lilac and Gooseberries".</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt spent his days wandering the outskirts of Vengerberg, whenever Yennefer was otherwise engaged in her herbs or her spells or her furious letter writing. He liked to wander; it was quiet, and often he would come upon a monster to slay to fill his pockets with a little coin. He had learned to trust his instincts when he wandered - to let his feet walk where they choose and he would end up where he was supposed to be.</p><p>So it was he was lead down an old, overgrown dirt road, to a decades-long-abandoned farmhouse. The thatched roof had collapsed in on itself, broken wood and stone from walls and windows was scattered around the decaying structure, the little pigpen in the front of the yard was half-filled in with rubble. Black charred stones and roof beams confirmed this destruction was not caused by the ravages of time, but by a terrible fire. The plants had begun to reclaim the abandoned land; long reedy grass, multi-colored wildflowers, dark green shrubbery, and even trees. Two plants, in particular, grew thick around the remaining walls, once planted intentionally in a garden and now grown wild: thin scraggly trees laden with green gooseberries and bushy shrubs bursting with purple lilacs. The air was thick with their scent - her scent.</p><p>He knew now why he had been brought here: this was where she was born; and the destruction that had happened here could only have been her doing.</p><p>As he approached the ruins he felt his medallion hum - there had been powerful magic here. The kind of deep, primal magic that seeps into the ground and stains the earth. There was an anger in that hum; a powerful rage that still burned inside the remaining stones and the blackened beams. Pure vengeance had befallen this place. He could feel a kind of haunting here too - not a wraith or any specter, nothing that had taken form - but the haunting of memories, whispers, of terrible things that had happened: the sobs and screams of a child, betrayed by those she loved and who should have loved her. The things that humans did without magic could leave a mark on a place as well - and there were many deep marks left here.</p><p>He took a few steps towards the destroyed house and saw, in the pigsty amongst the blackened stones and the green weeds, the half-buried skulls of a sow and her piglets. The pigs had burnt along with everything else. Geralt did not enter the house; he did not need to see inside to know what he would find.</p><p>And yet, he mused, she had let the plants regrow. She could have scorched the earth and poisoned the soil so they wouldn't return, but she didn't. The grasses, the wildflowers, the gooseberries and the lilacs - they were thriving. It must have smelt strongly here when she was a child too - the fragrant flowers and sweet fruits clustered around the stone walls. Had she lay beneath them in a moment of rest and let the scent wash over her? Had she hidden behind them to escape a violent rage, taking in the sickly sweet smell in quivering breaths? Was this what she carried with her: this place, the home that had rejected and reviled her, that she had fought to escape and forget, that she had returned to destroy, that she could not completely erase because it was, after all, a part of her?</p><p>The broken little cottage could no more answer this question than the sorceress herself; it was too buried, too burnt, unknowable.</p><p>He didn't pick a lilac stem to take home to her; he knew now where she summoned them from for herself. When he felt it was time to leave, he left; he had learned to trust his instincts.</p><p>The sun was setting as he returned home. He found Yennefer deep in concentration, carefully cutting and laying out herbs to dry on her workbench. He stood in the doorway and watched her: the setting sun glinting through her dark hair like embers, her skin glowing golden, her eyes a dark amethyst. If he looked carefully, he could see shadows of her former self, though he knew she hated when he looked at her that way. Perhaps he could see it because there was nothing <em>former</em> about it - she had not, could not, completely destroy who she had been - it was a part of who she was.</p><p>He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pressed his lips against the back of her head. She tensed, surprised by him at first and annoyed at being interrupted in her work. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this interruption?" she asked.  Geralt didn't reply. He rarely had the words to say what he meant, but he was learning to trust his instincts with her. So he stayed silent, held her tightly in his arms, and thought of nothing other than how much she was wanted, needed, and that she was where she was supposed to be. She relaxed eventually, succumbing to his hold, and resting her weight against him. "It's nice to have you home," she said.</p><p>"Mmm," he replied. He took a deep breath in and smelt the familiar scent that lingered around her: lilacs and gooseberries. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading. Comments are love.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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